The Blackest of Fridays

Okay, maybe our tradition isn’t as important to us as Anatevka’s was to him, but I still love it.

There is a day in which the Christmas season “officially” begins, and sales that the mind can hardly comprehend come to light on that, the Blackest of Fridays.

Once ever in our lives have your mom and I ventured though the tumult of frugality. I attempted to purchase a television, and after waiting in line for no less than six hours, I was told that the coupon for the TV had “expired” and that they had sold my television.

I was livid, and spent the rest of the day talking to upper management until they found an extra TV and delivered it to me.

After that, Black Friday would never be an “in store” event for us, but we couldn’t resist the savings. So we started a tradition. Every Black Friday, your mom and I wake up, make coffee and breakfast, sit down with our laptops, and do the entirety of our Christmas shopping in our pajamas.

It’s perfect. Everything is either shipped to our house or to Grammy and Tata’s house in Arizona. We listen to Christmas music, we drink coffee, and we don’t get trampled to death.

Most recently, I was perusing SlickDeals (which is a wonderful place. It’s a website where people post really awesome online sales and coupon combinations. They do this because it’s their hobby. Which is perfect, because one of my hobbies is saving money). I saw something that I almost didn’t believe. A Playstation 4 (yes, I know that by this time, the PS4 will be severely outdated, but right now, it’s fantastic. Just because you have the PS6 streamed into your brain doesn’t mean you can’t respect its roots) was on sale. 500 gigs, brand new, delivered to my door: $320. Considering a used PS4 is around $350, I was intrigued. I had been debating whether or not I would get a current gen system for a while, and I had some extra spending money…

The deal was done, the purchase made, and, in a surprising yet welcome turn of events, it arrived today, Monday the 1st.

I opened it and was in awe of its sleek design. I marveled at the small changes of the controller, how shiny it looked, and how perfectly-

And then you guys wanted to look at it. I was kind enough to let you hold the controller, but then you wanted to hold the system itself, play with the cords, and just cause trouble, in general.

Nope.

I write you this letter so that this one phrase can last with you, at least until you are mature enough to handle these things:

There are kids’ toys, and there are Daddy’s toys. Keep your grubby mitts off of Daddy’s toys.